


Drabble Collection -Jaskier's Witcher Collection

by Anonymous



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Multi, No Plot/Plotless, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:13:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23253004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: These are literally just random snippets of scenes that I’m writing during quarantine because I’m sick and cuddle deprived. There is no overarching plot, or even a set timeline. It's literally just scenes that I needed to write down. I can not guarantee quality, so I’m posting anonymously. Consider it like a DVD extra where you get to see all the rough sketches of your favorite Disney cartoon.It’s roughly set in a universe where Jaskier has collected all of the Witchers, like pokemon, and loves them relentlessly. Basically, assume any and all combinations might exist. Warnings, ratings and tags will change as more scenes are added.
Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert
Comments: 21
Kudos: 247
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Fireplace Cuddles with Eskel and Jaskier

Jaskier loved Kaer Morhen. It was cold, and drafty, and pretty much a death trap, but it had its charms. One such charm was currently sitting in a surprisingly plush chair by the fire, reading a large leather bound book.

Jaskier had been lounging in front of the fire for most of the day, snuggled deep into the fur pelts that had been gathered there in a sort of nest for the bard. Last night’s snow had driven any other plans he might have had away, and he was content to loaf around like a spoiled house cat.

Eskel had joined him hours ago. The younger Witcher, it seemed, could still be tempted to enjoy the finer things in life. Lambert and Geralt were helpless, preferring to go out in the surrounding woods in all sorts of weather, hunting, or sparring or rooting through the snow and mud for who knows what.

Eskel, while he was indoors at least, seemed more interested in his book than was strictly necessary, considering the fact that there was a perfectly good warm and pliant bard just lying there in front of him. He may have drug his chair closer to the fire, but it had still been placed at a strategic distance. Jaskier would actually have to get up if he wanted to garner the man’s attention.

Or so Eskel had thought. 

Jaskier had stretched, wiggled and shifted until he lay, still flat on his back, on the fur covered floor, but with his feet propped in Eskel’s lap, book resting on his calves. Eskel had obediently began to rub and pet the parts of Jaskier that were in easy reach. They sat in companionable silence, reading or dozing by the warm fire.

Until Eskel had stopped, fingers curled loosely around one of Jaskier’s ankles. Jaskier cracked an eye open. The Witcher seemed to be completely absorbed in whatever he was reading. The bard whined and curled his feet, digging them subtly into Eskel’s thigh, then when that did not work, into his stomach. Eskel simply hummed and gave one absent minded pat to the offended foot.

Noticing the tiniest smirk at the corner of Eskel’s mouth, Jaskier squinted his eyes. Oh, so that was the game then?

He yawned expansively, arching his back and stretching his arms above his head, letting his legs slip from the warm lap. He curled up, repositioning himself for his next move and waited. After a moment, Eskel’s eyes began to glaze over again, absorbed by something that had the audacity to think itself more interesting than a continent famous bard.

Softly, gently, Jaskier rolled up on to his hands and knees and carefully made his way to the chair. Eskel seemed unaware of his plot, though conveniently the older man shifted, spreading his legs slightly, lifting his book a little as Jaskier approached him. 

Jaskier knelt between Eskel’s legs, and briefly reconsidered his plans before moving upwards, squirming his way in between Eskel and his precious book. It was a little less graceful than he had pictured in his head, but the result was pleasing enough. He was curled within a strong cage of Witcher arms, nose tucked in against a warm shoulder, shapely bottom completely concealing the offending book that had dared compete with him for his Witcher’s attention.

Eskel sighed, but Jaskier knew him well enough to hear that he wasn’t truly annoyed, so he let the Witcher lift him up slightly, rescuing the leather bound volume and setting it aside, before letting Jaskier melt back against him.

“You’re a nuisance”, Eskel muttered, pressing a kiss against the top of his head, one broad hand beginning to stroke his back.

Jaskier just hummed, nuzzled into Eskel’s neck and dozed off again.


	2. Exercise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Witchers get creative with their exercise routine while stuck inside. (Mentions of poly-amorous naughty times, but this chapter is safe for work)

Jaskier wasn’t quite sure how it all started, but here he was, standing on Lambert’s back, lute in hand as the youngest Witcher did a frankly ridiculous amount of pushups. He was well up into the hundreds now, but Jaskier had lost count, concentrating on keeping his balance on the slick, shifting muscle under his feet while playing flawlessly. 

To tell the truth, Jaskier was fairly sure how it had all started. Kaer Morhen had been snowed in for weeks, and without even the brief escape to hunt or train in the courtyard, his darling Witchers had gone a little mad with boredom and lack of fresh air. Which led to drinking. Which led to ridiculous bets. Which led to an unsuspecting Jaskier being pressed into service as a piece of training equipment.

Not that he was complaining too much. The Witchers were competitive at the best of times, and this way they had an outlet for their excess energy that didn’t leave any lingering fatigue and soreness on Jaskier’s part. Plus it meant he got to show off his own talents. Not many bards could boast about performing a perfect rendition, all fourteen verses mind you, of “The Friar in the Well”, while being lifted repeatedly over a Witcher’s head. Even if by verse eleven, said Witcher was laughing to hard to maintain proper form.

Plus, there were prizes involved. Usually including Jaskier in the winnings, so there was that.

Jaskier was so preoccupied with his mind’s wanderings that he wasn’t prepared to steady himself when Lambert’s shoulder trembled under his right foot. He scurried to readjust, leaning more weight back on his left, planted as it was on the small of the Witcher’s back but was undone as his heel slipped in a patch of sweat. With a shout he went down, tossing his lute to the safety of a nearby Geralt.

Below him, with astonishing speed, Lambert rolled, reaching up to catch Jaskier and settle him safely, if not gently, on his heaving chest. Jaskier laughed in delight and bent to peck a kiss on the tip of his savior’s sweaty nose, allowing shaking arms to wind around him. “Did he win?” the bard asked, twisting to look at Eskel who was serving as official score keeper.

Eskel pretended to study the scrap of parchment in his lap. “Well, we agreed to take off 10 points for each note you missed,”

“Not fair!” Lambert interjected.

“And he dropped you, which should be, what Geralt? Another 20?”

“25.” Geralt decided, and then before the youngest Witcher could protest, “And you only avoided a beating because you caught him.”

“Add an extra 2 points for style.” Jaskier commanded. “It was a very heroic catch.” He winked down, patting Lambert’s shoulder

Eskel hummed his agreement, making a show of doing the math. “You lost then. Geralt has one more point than you.”

“Of course he does” Lambert sulked, tightening his grip as Geralt strode forward to claim his prize, but too worn out to put up much of a fight. Geralt easily pried the bard away, lifting him with one arm.

Jaskier let himself be manhandled up and over one brawny shoulder.

“You’ll get him next time!” He yelled encouragingly as Geralt spirited him away from the main hall, yelping at the swat that landed on his bottom. “I should take three point off for that” He complained teasingly.

Witcher ears must have caught his remark because, from the end of the hall he could hear Lambert insisting that meant he had won.

Geralt sped up.


	3. Sick Cuddles  (Modern AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier turns into a cuddle monster when he is sick (Modern Non-Magical AU)

“Oh thank fuck.” Lambert groaned, not much louder than a whisper. “You’re home.”

Geralt lifted an eyebrow as he shut the door quietly, toeing off his shoes and dropping his keys into the bowl by the door. 

He had only been gone for a few hours, but it looked like Lambert hadn’t moved an inch. That probably had something to do with the duvet bundled, jaskier shaped, lump of misery curled up on his lap. 

“Is he feeling better?” Geralt asked, coming to sit down on the couch beside his boyfriends. He poked carefully around the top of the lump, trying to uncover a face or at least a forehead to check for fever. 

Jaskier had spent the last week battling the flu, and while he wasn’t exactly sick anymore, he was tired, achey, and clingy. The past weekend had seen Lambert, Geralt and Eskel on an almost constant cuddle rotation. 

“He’s been sleeping ever since you left. And I really, really need to take a piss so…” Lambert gestured for Geralt to relieve him of his burden. 

“You could have moved him” 

“Not without feeling like I was murdering a kitten” 

Geralt hummed in agreement. 

The hand off was not very graceful, but Geralt was able to disentangle Jaskier and settle him into his own lap with a minimum of fuss. As soon as Lambert was free, he scrambled up and over the back of the couch in his haste to reach the bathroom. 

For his part, Jaskier seemed content to remain in his cocoon, creating the smallest gap so that he could nuzzle his cheek into his older lover’s neck.

“You need to drink something when he gets back. Do you need something for the pain?” Geralt pulled his legs up on to the couch and settled Jaskier more firmly between his thighs. He swept one broad hand firmly up and down his youngest lover’s back.

Jaskier shook his head. 

“Have you eaten?”

Another head shake. 

“Eskel will be home soon. Said he was going to grab some soup. Sound good?”

A pause, then a nod.

Geralt sighed. He loved Jaskier, but always found this version, the quiet, sick one, the hardest to deal with. He only ever seemed to communicate using a game of 20 questions, or through a series of whines and grumbles. He had to be prompted to do even the simplest things like dress, bathe or eat. All this Jaskier wanted to do was cuddle up to the nearest available boyfriend and feel sorry for himself until the illness passed. 

So Geralt simply rubbed Jaskier’s back until he felt the warm body in his lap relax and become heavy with sleep.

“He’s worse than a cat” Lambert grumbled fondly as he slunk back into the room, a bottle of water and pill box in hand. “Next time at least make sure I can reach the remote before you leave us.” He gestured to the tv which was playing quietly.

“I’ve spent two hours watching slugs fuck.” Lambert complained, setting down both water and pills in order to grab the remote. “That’s what passes for educational tv now.” Carefully, he rummaged under the duvet that hid Jaskier and pulled out a set of bare feet, propping them in his lap and absently rubbing them. Jaskier sighed contentedly against Geralt’s chest but didn’t seem to wake up fully. 

Geralt hummed again and closed his eyes, relaxing down into the couch. He had a feeling he might be here for a while.


	4. Limpet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is a brat in the morning (with Eskel and Geralt)

Geralt lifted his mug of ale in just enough time to hide his smirk as Eskel rounded the corner into the great hall of Kaer Morhen, swearing and tugging at the burden draped across his broad back. 

“Good morning Jaskier” Geralt said pleasantly. 

“Good morning.” Jaskier chirped back, wiggling his fingers at the silver haired Witcher. 

“Will you get your bard?” Eskel asked, gently yanking on a leg wrapped around his waist. 

“My bard?” Geralt asked, eyebrows lifted in feigned confusion. “He wasn’t my bard last night when you dragged him off to your room.” 

“He’s damn well your bard now. Geralt, I can’t get him off!”

Eskel could easily get Jaskier off his back, and they both knew it. He’d hardly be a Witcher if he couldn’t. A good swift tug, or scraping against the stone wall would do it. The issue was, Eskel couldn’t get rid of Jaskier without hurting him and wouldn’t do that. 

Unfortunately Jaskier knew that as well, and was using it to his advantage, clinging stubbornly to his reluctant host. 

“Guess what Eskel called me this morning Geralt?” Jaskier didn’t give Geralt time to answer. “A limpet.” Jaskier went to make an expressive sweep of his hand to show his distaste at the term, but thought better of it and clamped the wayward limb more firmly against Eskel’s neck when the Witcher made a grab for it. 

“A limpet! That’s practically a mollusk.”

Geralt just hummed, picking out a thick piece of smoked bacon. He knew better than to share his opinion on the matter. Jaskier liked being called an octopus just about as much as he apparently liked being called a limpet. 

Jaskier was always clingy in the morning. On particularly cold mornings, the only way to remove him was by threatening to walk straight into a freezing stream and lying back down. Geralt had only had to do it once, and since then the threat alone had been enough to get the bard to withdrawal his tentacles. 

Unluckily for Eskel, there was a lack of icy rivers in the winter Keep. 

“I was mistaken. You’re more leech than limpet” Eskel twisted, trying to reach Jaskier’s shoulder, or possibly his neck. Jaskier retaliated by kicking a heel into his stomach with a screech of mock outrage. 

“And to prove him wrong you decided to, what, latch on and refuse to let go?” Geralt asked, tone conversational. “Eggs?” He added, pausing as he filled a plate. 

“Yes please.” Jaskier used Eskel’s wiggling to lock his arms in a firmer grip, looping one over the broad chest, the other over a shoulder. “He also expected me to walk. In my bare feet. On the icy stone floor, all this way. I would have caught a chill and died! Some toast too, dear.”

“It’s not my fault you took your shoes and socks off down here” the younger Witcher defended himself, turning in a tight circle.

Geralt set the loaded plate down in Jaskier’s preferred spot and took his time pouring a mug full of juice. “You forgot to grab his shoes when you left. His death would have been on your head.” 

Eskel merely grunted and Geralt took pity on his brother. “Jaskier, let him go and come eat your breakfast.”

“Haven’t you heard? I’m a leech. I don’t think leeches eat breakfast.”

“You’ve clearly bested him, don’t be a brat.”

Jaskier made a rude noise against Eskel’s throat but didn’t yield.

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s tone was a warning, and he stepped forward, hands curling into claws.

“You wouldn’t.” The bard’s voice wavered slightly as he eyed Geralt’s hands. 

“I will.”

Jaskier took a moment to decide whether or not to call the older Witcher’s bluff, and then yelped as Eskel stepped quickly into Geralt’s path, making the point moot. 

Geralt sprang forward, digging fingers into ticklish ribs. The effect was immediate. With a screech, Jaskier began to flail his limbs, abandoning his grip on Eskel to protect his sides as Geralt continued his assault. Eskel neatly scraped Jaskier off into the other’s merciless hold, and made a quick escape.

“Stop! Stop you beast! I yield!” Jaskier was turning red, gasping for air. Satisfied, Geralt ended the attack and drug the unresisting bard over to the table. He sat down, pulling the smaller man into his lap before handing him the filled mug. Jaskier drank quickly, panting. 

“A piece of advice, brother” Geralt offered, feeling magnanimous. “His weak spot is behind his knees.”

There was a glint or retribution in Eskel’s eyes as he nodded, looking serious. Gerat felt Jaskier shiver against him and hid his smirk against the younger man’s neck. 

Limpet indeed.


End file.
